Second day, an early morning sun.

A short night of facing demons,

washed away with black gold. 

Not challenged to leave, I won’t run,

solid walls between me and out there,

but even in here, it feels cold.

The second of ninety-eight more.

A need to make, creativity on hold,

The door is open, just three steps down,

a simple walk to distracting tools.

Tomorrow will be another day,

Playing the role as king of fools.

*****